


Pound of Flesh

by Ruuger



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Deathfic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuger/pseuds/Ruuger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nobody realised that it was Red John, not until much later, after Rigsby and Van Pelt."</p><p>Red John kills everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kimball

Nobody realised that it was Red John, not until much later, after Rigsby and Van Pelt.

Jane was with Lisbon in her office when the call came. They were talking about a suspect Rigsby had caught literally with his pants down, and she was still trying to stifle laughter when she answered the phone.

He could immediately tell from her expression what had happened, even before she spoke a word. He sat up to look at the bullpen where Rigsby and Van Pelt were looking at something on her computer, and that's when he knew it had to be Cho. 

It was a random shooting, or so they were told, just a case of Cho being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd been on his way to meet his girlfriend for lunch when a man suddenly pulled out a gun in the middle of the street and started shooting, killing four people before taking his own life. The man had a history of mental health problems, the gun had been reported stolen in a home invasion three weeks earlier, and there was no connection between him and any of the people he'd killed. There was never any reason for them to suspect anything.

Lisbon and Jane were among the first ones to arrive to the scene, just a few blocks away from the CBI building. Watching Cho's body lie on on the street felt unreal, much like what he'd felt when he'd found his family, and Jane couldn't help himself, couldn't resist the urge to make sure that he wasn't just imagining it all. While Lisbon talked to the SacPD officers, he crouched down next to the body and reached to touch it. 

"Jane. No."

He felt Lisbon's hand on his shoulder as she gently pulled him away from the body. When he looked up, he could see a glimmer of tears in her eyes. But she wasn't crying. Not Lisbon, not at a crime scene, not even though he knew she held herself responsible for Cho's death.

As they walked away, Jane realised that he'd never before lost a friend. The people he'd called friends had always been just marks to toy with, or fellow con artists who'd wanted take advantage of him, but Cho... Cho had most certainly been a friend.


	2. Grace

Rigsby punched him at Grace's funeral.

Jane had been feeling off ever since Cho's death, his words no-longer the sharp and controlled weapon they used to be, and so he wasn't quite sure what he'd said to upset Rigsby. One moment he was talking to Lisbon, the next he was lying on the ground with his face on fire, and a furious-looking Rigsby looming above him.

He thought that Rigsby might hit him again, but then Lisbon stepped between them, her expression unreadable as she put her hand on Rigsby's arm and firmly but gently told him to walk away. 

Later, Jane thought that he should have said something to her then, should have told her that it wasn't her fault, that it wasn't anyone's fault except his own for having brought this curse upon them. But by then it was already too late.


	3. Wayne

The CBI put him on permanent suspension after Rigsby's death. 

Van Pelt had been taken from the parking garage under her apartment building. She was killed on a Friday night, with no-one to miss her until Monday when her mutilated body was discovered lovingly posed on a table at what had once been Towlen Morning's office. Rigsby was killed at his home, his living room painted red with blood when he'd struggled to escape his attacker. The message was clear: nowhere is safe.

They knew now that it was Red John, had always been Red John, and Jane watched Lisbon try to hide her tears as they exhumed Cho's body for further examination.

Jane didn't argue against his suspension. He left Sacramento without saying goodbye to Lisbon, sneaking back to the office one last time to steal those files on Red John that he hadn't already photocopied. He knew Lisbon would know that he'd done it, but he also knew she wouldn't try to stop him.

He moved back to to his house in Malibu, spending his days and nights sitting on the floor under the watchful eye of the bloody grinning face, pouring over the casefiles, desperately trying to find that mistake Red John must have made to change his strategy so drastically. Sometimes there would be a message in his voice mail, or a text message that he knew would be from Lisbon, but he always deleted them without checking.


	4. Teresa

There was a note pinned to Lisbon's body. Jane had known, of course, for some time already that the deaths were a message to him, but this was the first direct contact between them since it had all started.

Her body had been left at Jane's house while he was out shopping for groceries, laid out on the mattress for him to find. She had been posed in the exact same position as his wife had been, her toenails painted red with her own blood, and a second crimson face drawn over the old faded one on the wall.

She didn't look dead, not the way his wife had, and he kept expecting for her to reprimand him, kept waiting for - _hoping_ for - that exasperated "Jane! Gloves!" as he reached for the note. But she remained quiet, her empty eyes watching him, full of accusation. 

The note was stained with her blood, and pinned into the white camisole that looked so familiar he couldn't tell if it had been hers or his wife's.

His hands shook when he unfolded the paper, and it took him a moment to be able to read the words scribbled on it with a red felt tip pen:

_your move_


	5. Patrick

Ten years, two months, thirteen days, four hours and thirty-six minutes. That's how long it took Jane to find Red John, though he couldn't remember anymore if he was counting from the first time he saw that bloody smiling face, or from the last time. 

He slipped into the building through the back doors, dressed in worn and stained overalls and wearing a laminated badge he'd stolen from one of the janitors. 

It wasn't about peace, it wasn't even about revenge anymore, but it was going to be an end. Red John smiled when he saw him, but Jane said nothing, simply raised his gun (both hands on the handle to keep it steady, just like Lisbon had taught him all those years ago) and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet tore through Red John's throat, and for a moment everything was bathed in red as the bright arterial blood gushed from the wound. His left hand pressed on his throat, Red John took a staggering step forwards, reaching for Jane as if to embrace him, before crumbling in a heap on the floor. Jane watched Red John, his own breathing mimicking that of the dying man, every breath slower and shallower than the one before, until the body finally went still. Red John was dead, Jane had finally killed him, although a part of him couldn't help thinking if it had actually been the other way around.

There were sounds all around him. Screams, shouts, sirens, but it was drowned by the loud humming in his ears that rose and fell like ocean waves. He couldn't make his mind to focus-

_Put down your weapon or we will open fire._

-couldn't do anything but stare at the red pool of blood spreading on the carpet in front of him.

_Put down your weapon **now**!_

And he couldn't help thinking that if he'd ever really been given the choice, he would have chosen life.


End file.
